Night encased the Earth. I’m on the edge of sleep, sweating and my arm was aching something terrible.
Shane Wellner | Rawr
I didn’t want to sleep anymore. I couldn’t. I had to fight. The horrific sounds, the screaming and smells teased my senses. I paced back and forth, gulping down pills and coffee, using the fan to blow cool fall air on my face. My body was slowing down. I didn’t think I could keep my eyes open much longer.
The dreams were pleasant at the beginning. I couldn’t remember when I first dreamed of the town, but the sensation was wondrous. It was like feeling a cool breeze on a hot day.
In the dream, the town was small and seemed to be in its own little world, away from cities, away from the pathetic needs of modern man. No cars, no bicycles and above all, no people. Silence and calm blanketed the town like the night. Just beyond the boundaries laid a wasteland of grass and weeds.
It all seemed very real.
I found myself walking down the main road, which was nothing more than a dirt path. As if condemned to endlessly wander, the road continued past the town into unexplored regions.
On either side of the road I saw houses. The empty shells seemed more like memories than physical manifestations.
As I frequented the town in my dreams, I visited a particular abode constantly. It sat at the edge of town, surrounded by rusted wires and rotting wood of neglected fences. The house gazed at the road ominously, as if hiding a deep pain.
Something about the house intrigued me. It made me feel uneasy. The structure was fragile and didn’t look like it would stand for much longer. The saggy roof somehow remained in place, but there was not a fractured window to be seen, as with the other houses. The house occupied my dreams and the town seemed to disappear. The more I studied, the more I felt as if I must go in.
One night, the urge was too strong. I moved toward the house. My blood ran cold as I approached it. Every step I took, dead grass crunching under my feet, the house seemed to grow in scale.
A dead silence overcame the area, making the natural silence of the town sound like the racket of a city. Each creak of the porch under my weight sliced into my ears. My heart beat rapidly. I put my hand on the chilled doorknob. I couldn’t help myself. I turned the knob.
The door swung open on its own with a loud bang. There was little light, but I could see shadows dancing across some of the walls. They were long and hideous. Their sources couldn’t be human.
The low hum of a unified cry slowly built in volume. I stood in the entrance, bewildered and paralyzed.
Suddenly, something grabbed my left arm. The scent of rotting flesh and sulfur swept over me. My stomach tied into a knot. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. Something was dragging me inside. I struggled and screamed. I felt what must have been claws sinking into my skin as whatever had me tightened its grip.
I woke up, gasping for breath. My head felt light and I thought I was going to pass out. I immediately ran to the bathroom, where I took a shower in icy water. The water felt like knives against my body, but it brought me out of my daze. I could think straight again.
It was only a dream.
But then, as I bathed, I looked at my throbbing left arm. The sounds and scents returned to me. I exited the shower and vomited into the toilet. On my arm was a large bruise with claw marks surrounding it.
That was three days ago. I haven’t slept since. I couldn’t. If I did, I’d be in the grip of that horrid creature again, and I wouldn’t be waking up.
Everything seemed to be getting darker with each passing moment. The night waned on. I continued to pace.
My arm throbbed. I take hold of it and the throbbing turns into pain.
The darkness seemed to suffocate every light in the house. It became difficult to see.
I’m outside, on the porch. Dead silence.
The doorknob, coarse and cold. Rotting flesh and sulfur. And now, somewhere in the distance, horrid laughter.